


Salí

by courtneythenerd



Category: The Get Down (TV)
Genre: Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 03:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11119302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtneythenerd/pseuds/courtneythenerd
Summary: Curtis was trouble. He was nothing but trouble. He dragged Zeke down, didn’t he? Zeke had said everyone was right about Curtis because everyone was right about Curtis.





	Salí

**Author's Note:**

> Ladies, gentlemen and gender non-conforming peeps, I present to you my first ever canon compliant TGD fic. *air horns* 
> 
> Anyway, I wrote this when I was depressed. The title's pretentious af. It probably has typos.

180 days. Zeke is counting. 

Zeke started counting on the first day of classes. From the moment he sat down in his Introduction to International Relations class, he started counting the days.

180 days until he has to get back on that plane. Until he has to go back to the place he escaped. 

Zeke can’t tell you the number of days in between the time he got that letter from Yale and the time he got on the plane to New Haven, Connecticut. It was about three months, so maybe 90? He can’t tell you how long orientation was, how many days it took him to get all his shit together. About a week, right? 7 or 8 days? 

Zeke can’t even tell how many days it’s been since he last talked to his tía. He talked to her before he left, but the days have melted together. Has it been two weeks or three?

But he knows it’s been 102 days since he last saw Shaolin. 

About three and a half months since he told Shaolin that Papa Fuerte, Mylene, all of them were right about him. Since he spoke Shao’s  _ real  _ name, the one that he left behind years ago.

Zeke’s been wanting to take it back for 95 days.

The feeling was really strong the day before Zeke left. He wanted to call the whole thing off. Zeke wanted to forget the plane, forget Yale, forget that fight and the one before that and the one before that. 

Zeke just wanted to find him, to at least look Shaolin in his face. 

But Zeke didn’t. Zeke got on the plane and then he got off in New Haven. He had a future, a  _ real future _ and he told himself that he needed to focus on that. Zeke told himself all the lies he told Shaolin that night. 

It’s just . . . it’s harder to say them when you’ve realized they’re not true. 

**

3 fucking hours. That’s how long Annie’s been wanting to cuddle.

Shao doesn’t even know where this came from: she normally hates all that touchy-feely shit. She likes to fuck and be done. But lately she wants to lay up on him. It makes it harder for Shao to scrub her off of his skin. 

Shao figures it has something to do with Cadillac. Fuck Cadillac, by the way. His bitch ass had the nerve to go running. After all that shit he put Shao through, he just puts his tail between his legs and run away. 

If Shao is being honest with himself, he’d admit that he’s really mad that Cadillac left him  _ alone  _ with her. Because at least Cadillac took  _ some  _ of the heat for him. And at least Cadillac gave Annie something to be a little bit vicious over.  It’s weird as hell to think that Shao might miss that part of Annie, the one with the attitude and wicked smile. He hated it, but at least he’d gotten used to it. 

Now she’s just a needy old woman who wants her money and Shaolin’s body. And Shao can’t stand to give her either. 

When she finally gets up off of him, Shaolin immediately jumps into the shower. Not for the first time, Shaolin wonders what would happen if he just filled the tub with water and held his head under for a long time. Would he actually drown himself or would his instincts kick in and make him lift his head up for air? 

Shaolin’s eyes flutter close. The shower’s spray hits his face and he thinks of Zeke.

Fuck Zeke. 

Shao squeezes his eyes tighter. Fuck . . . there’s no passion in the words. No heat. No feeling. He’s said those words more times than he count for damn near 5 months and he still feels  _ nothing _ . 

_ They was all right about you _ . 

Those words had heat. Zeke’s eyes had burned with rage and betrayal and every word he said to Shaolin had the kind of passion that can only come when you fucking hate someone. 

Not that Shaolin blamed Zeke. Shaolin hates himself so much that it’s starting to get a little boring. How often can you repeat the same verses of “I hate myself, I want to die” before you stop hearing them? Before they become a steady beat in the back of your head? 

The only thing that changes the beat is the thought of Zeke; Zeke makes the beat louder. Shaolin can’t ignore it; it becomes overwhelming, spreading throughout Shaolin’s body, dragging him lower and lower. 

Zeke made it seem like Shao ruined his life. But shit, Zeke ruined Shao’s. Zeke walked away from him, told him that everything Shao ever loved was fake. Zeke gave him a family and then tore it apart with a few words. 

Shaolin will be just fine if he never sees Zeke again. At least that’s what he keeps telling himself.

**

There’s this guy that Zeke sees around campus that reminds him of Shaolin.

He isn’t  _ like  _ Shaolin though: there’s no one else in the world like Shaolin Fantastic. But he looks like him. The skin, the hair, the height, the build. He likes to wear the color red.

He can’t dance worth shit, though; Zeke sees him at a party and almost laughs in his face. But that’s not really fair. Zeke had never seen anyone dance like Shao before he met Shao. He can’t hold some guy to that standard.

He and Zeke fuck that night, and it’s the first time Zeke even admits that he wanted a dude that way.

Of course, Zeke doesn’t make too much progress that night. Because he  _ still  _ doesn’t admit that the only reason Zeke got into bed with him is because he was imagining what it’d be like to be in bed with Shaolin. 

**

Shaolin was supposed to leave Pakoussa’s an hour ago.

If Annie asks, he’ll just tell her he had a harder moving than they thought he would. He doesn’t know if she’ll believe him though. Annie was confident than Shaolin could charm everyone there into buying.

“You cute enough for them,” she’d said with a nasty grin. “Plus, those faggots get just as high as everybody else.” 

She wasn’t wrong. Shaolin showed up, showed out, and made the money. 

But there’s this guy. Has a fro, speaks Spanish, and has a goofy laugh. And he’s been grinning at Shaolin since he walked in.

And Shao? Shao’s pathetic. Greedy, cheap and pathetic. 

Shao doesn’t even ask his name.

He crowds Shao against the wall, and Shao pulls him close like he needs him to breathe. His waist isn’t small enough and his lips aren’t full enough, but they’ll do. He takes Shao’s dick into his mouth and looks up at him without malice, without greed, without shame.

It’s not enough--nothing will ever be  _ enough _ \--but it’ll do.

**

Zeke can’t write. He can’t fucking write.

Zeke can’t write poems. He can’t write these bullshit papers. He can’t write any stupid answers for even stupider exams. He can’t write  _ anything _ .

Zeke storms through the hall and burst through his door. He  _ hated  _ living alone until this very moment, when he’s desperately clawing through his belongings to find his notebook. 

The one notebook he always used whenever he wrote for the Get Down. 

Zeke brought it with him. He  _ knows  _ he did. 

Zeke snatches a drawer out, and dumps it. 

Zeke remembers packing it in his bags. 

He digs through the crate he stuffed his school books in. 

Because Zeke figured that he’d still need it. He used it before the Get Down--he could still use it. 

Zeke drops to his knees and gets as far underneath his bed as he possibly can. 

Nothing.

Zeke scrambles off of the floor. Fury burns through him, causing him to shake all over. His face burns with tears and his chest feels too tight. 

Zeke backs into his desk. He turns around, snatches the desk lamp off of it and flings it across the room.

And then he laughs because this is stupid, this is so  _ fucking _ stupid! Why is he getting this heated over a fucking notebook? A notebook he wrote senseless little rhymes in for a group that wasn’t going nowhere. 

All because some boy who didn’t have a real name made him believe in it, and in him, and in  _ himself _ . 

But that’s just it, isn’t it? That’s the whole problem. Shaolin made Zeke believe. Anything was possible with the Get Down Brothers. Anything was possible with Shaolin. 

But Shao’s gone. Zeke pushed him away and he’s gone. And not even the things Zeke was most certain about feel possible. 

**

It all happens too fast. 

It starts because Annie touches him. At least Shao  _ thinks  _ that’s how it starts. 

She touches him, and he can’t stop himself from flinching this time. 

Annie touches Shao, and Shao suddenly starts to think of how Zeke would look at him if Zeke knew that Annie was still touching him.

It isn’t even a sexual touch. It’s just a touch on the arm. But it’s enough.

Shaolin snatches away from her and starts to walk away. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he’s walking away.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” 

Shao hears her voice and keeps walking, heading down the stairs that lead to the club. The dance floor is so bright that it’s almost blinding as Shao starts to descend. 

“Bring yo’ faggot ass back here!” 

Shao stops, but doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t even move. He feels Annie reach for him and braces himself for a strike. 

But then .  . .

She misses. 

Maybe Annie trips over her dress. Maybe she misses one of the stairs. Maybe she just stretches her arm out too far. Either way, Annie misses and falls right past Shaolin. 

Annie doesn’t fall far, but she falls fast. And she lands directly on her head. 

Shao hears a loud, sickening  _ crack!  _ The sound freezes him to the spot. 

Her limp body slides down a couple more steps, then stops. Annie’s head is twisted in way that makes Shao’s stomach turn. 

Annie’s back does two quick little jumps. Then her back stops moving completely.

Shao has no idea how long he stands there, frozen. Could be minutes or hours. All he knows is that he stares, waiting for her to get up and attack him.

It’s only when Little Wolf comes and cusses real loud that Shao realizes that Annie’s never getting up again. 

**

Giant snowflakes fall on Zeke’s head as he drags himself back to his dorm. He wouldn’t mind if the flakes didn’t melt; the freezing water slides down the back of his neck and chills him to his bone. 

He should’ve put a hat on before he went to class. But Zeke wouldn’t be his dramatic self if he didn’t walk out in the middle of snow, letting the flakes hit his head as he thinks of the Bronx.

It’s so funny; Zeke tried hard to make himself out to be someone who deserved to be set free of the hood. But now that he’s out, he can only think about what he left behind.

Zeke finally gets to his room and immediately cranks the heat up as high as it will go. He takes off his snow-covered boats and coat, flinging them to the corner of the room.

He grabs a notepad and pencil off of his desk and sits in the middle of his bed. 

Zeke has one last letter left in him.

His letter to Mylene sounds nothing like what he used to write. Whatever “gift” he had with words is dead; whatever heart he put into his words has gone cold and gray. 

He can’t even write how he’s feeling without it sounding dull and dead. Zeke reads it back and doesn’t recognize himself, can’t stop wondering who this boy is that’s trying to sound grown. 

So Zeke just writes out what the facts of the matter: they need to end. Mylene’s got California and movies and audiences, and Zeke’s got small dorm rooms and classes he skips.  Mylene has the world and the music. And Zeke gave all that up. There’s nothing for her to wait for, nothing to come back to. 

The Zeke she believed in is not the same one  _ he  _ believes in. Maybe he never was. 

**

“No.”

Little Wolf looks at Shao like Shao’s grown two heads. Little Wolf looks around wildly as if someone else spoke using Shao’s mouth. Then he screws his face up in disgust.

“The fuck is  _ wrong  _ with you?” Little Wolf demands. “We got a chance to make  _ real money  _ again and you saying no?”

Shao resists the urge to tell Little Wolf that there’s nothing “real” about the money they make, that it’s never done anything but keep their souls anchored these filthy ass streets. Instead, he just sets his jaw and looks Little Wolf in the eyes.

“I’m saying no,” Shao states. “I don’t wanna do no street shit anymore, man.”

Little Wolf looks Shao up and down and scoffs loudly.

“What else you think we good for, man?” Little Wolf asks. “No, for real, tell me: what else you think we can do?”

“Something better than this,” Shao answers. And he’s not even sure if that’s true or if he’s just deluding himself like he used to. But he wants to try to find out.

A harsh wind blows. Shao hunches over and stuffs his hands into his coat pockets. Little Wolf, however, just stands there, letting the blast hit him dead on. 

And maybe it’s just the wind making it happen, but Shao swears that he sees tears in Little Wolf’s eyes. 

In the next second, Little Wolf’s eyes are dry and harsh: he glares at Shao with a look of disgust.

“You gonna be a rat, you know that, right? A fucking street rat,” Little Wolf says.

Those should be fighting words. Shaolin should punch Little Wolf in his mouth. 

But Shao’s tired.

Little Wolf looks Shao up and down, and then turns and walks away from him.

Shao watches Little Wolf’s back and smiles to himself. Zeke would be proud. 

**

Zeke fails his Introduction to International Relations midterm. And his Constitutional Law midterm. And he just barely passes his Introduction to American Politics midterm. 

Zeke lies on his narrow bed and thinks about all the people who would be disappointed in him if they knew how badly he was fucking up in school. Mrs. Green. His tía. Mylene. Ra. His mother. 

Shaolin.

Zeke scoffs at the name. Shao wouldn’t care that he was failing. Shao would probably be happy. Then he could say “I told you so.” Shao could say that he told Zeke that he wasn’t supposed to be up here with all these white boys trying to do this politicking shit. He was supposed to be with his brothers, making music. 

Zeke grits his teeth, feeling anger building in his stomach. Zeke doesn’t know if he’s angry because he thinks Shao was right or if he’s angry because he wants to blame Shao for his failings. 

Zeke turns over onto his side and faces the wall. 

He’s tired of having this argument with himself. 

One side of him keeps trying to tell Zeke to forget about Shaolin--about  _ Curtis-- _ because all he ever did was get Zeke’s ass in a whole lot of trouble.  _ Curtis _ pulled a knife on Zeke.  _ Curtis _ pointed a gun at a couple of future Yale students and got Zeke fired and then kicked out.  _ Curtis  _ got Boo arrested for selling drugs. 

Curtis was  _ trouble _ . He was nothing but trouble. He dragged Zeke down, didn’t he? Zeke had said everyone was right about Curtis because everyone  _ was  _ right about Curtis. 

Even know, Curtis is  _ still  _ ruining Zeke’s life. Maybe  Zeke would’ve been able to remember what he studied if he hadn’t spent every second of every day thinking of Curtis!

But then there’s the other side of Zeke. 

The side that remembers  _ Shaolin, _ and not Curtis.

The side that remembers the feeling of being alive--of being  _ happy _ \--so vividly that it aches. That remembers the way Zeke’s heart pounded whenever he grabbed a mic and rhymed over Shaolin’s magic spinning. The side that remembers Shaolin’s mischievous grin, the rise and fall of his chest, the pride in his eyes when he looked at Zeke. 

The side that remembers what it was like to look at someone and see every dream you’ve ever had. 

Zeke . . . he didn’t have a life before Shaolin. Not really. He didn’t have a dream. He didn’t really have anything before he saw Shaolin staring down at him from a rooftop. Before they stood side-by-side and watched the sun rise. 

Zeke closes his eyes and tries to swallow the lump in his throat. There really is no point to having this argument with himself. The same side wins every time. 

**

“You need a job?”

At first, Shao doesn’t realize the old man’s talking to him. Maybe someone came in the record store behind him that Shao didn’t see. 

But no, Old Man James, is looking dead at Shao with a curious, hopeful look on his face. 

“Um . . . do you plan on giving me one?”

Old Man James chuckles. “Well, why not? You in here everyday. I haven’t had to arrange any of the sections since you started showing up.”

Because Shao hates it when people leave records a mess. It means they don’t respect them. It doesn’t matter that Shao hasn’t spun a record in about 6 months. It doesn’t matter that Shao stashed all the records he owns away, so that he doesn’t have to see them. He still respects them, which is more than most. 

Old Man James shrugs. “You can get $3.50 an hour. Monday--Friday. And stay out of the nasty cold for a few hours of the day.”

The old man smiles at Shao, and Shao smiles back. Shao’s never been one to turn down a good offer.

“I’ll take it!” 

“Good, good!” Old Man James smiles in the way Shao imagines grandfathers smile in. “What’s your name, by the way?”

Shao opens his mouth, then closes it again. 

Zeke’s right: Shaolin  _ ain’t  _ a fucking name. 

“Curtis. Curtis Anderson.”

**

“Ezekiel, you are a very bright young man. But I think you could’ve done much better this semester. If you don’t make a certain grade on these exams, you could end up on academic probation next semester. 

Zeke’s advisor is nice: he figures most of them just let students fail. His advisor’s kindness is the only thing stopping Zeke from walking of his office right now.

“Zeke, I read your admissions essay. Life back there sounded very scary.”

Zeke manages to stop himself from rolling his eyes, giving himself a headache in the process.

“I imagine that Yale is an opportunity for you to start over, have a better life.”

Zeke can feel his eyes deaden. He nods along, not even trying to be convincing. But it works for his advisor. 

“And I know this a very challenging school. But you have to think about the future. How much better it can be than what you left behind. You understand?”

Zeke almost wants to tell him that he’s not sure if there’s anything better than what he left behind. That 137 days has felt like 5037 days. That he doesn’t even recognize the person he sees in the mirror every morning.

But Zeke just nods. He nods, and the advisor smiles.

**

Mylene comes in alone.

Shaolin is surprised; it’s weird enough that she’s here. But she doesn’t have anyone with her at all. He figures she should’ve brought some of her California crew with her back to the Bronx, to show them the pits from whence she came.

Mylene just stares at him for a while. She probably doesn’t recognize him without the red or the thick ass mustache. 

“Hey, Curtis, go help our resident superstar!” Old Man James calls.

Mylene’s face contorts with confusion and Shao almost laughs at her. He wonders if she thought he didn’t have a real name, too. 

She tenses when he walks over to her.

“Girl, relax, I’m not about to steal from you or nothing,” Shaolin says. 

Mylene blinks at him for a moment, and then all the tension in her body melts away.

“Shao,” Mylene says as if she’s reminding herself, “what are you doing here?”

“Working,” Shao answers. He can’t help the smugness that crawls into his voice. “What about you? Your movie is over?”

Mylene nods, a faint smile on her face. “Yeah, we wrapped production and flew home. I got back yesterday.”

“And now what? You trying to see if your new record is selling?” Shaolin asks.

Mylene looks embarrassed before Shaolin reaches over and picks a copy of “Toybox” off of a shelf.

“It is, by the way,” Shaolin says. “And it’s pretty good. Not my style, of course, but you know--”

“I’m sorry,” Mylene blurts the words out and looks just as confused as Shaolin. 

Shaolin raises an eyebrow at Mylene and she sighs.

“For what I said to you before. About you being a thug and all that,” Mylene finishes. “I was wrong to say that. I shouldn’t have been so mean.” 

Shaolin looks at Mylene skeptically. The real her must’ve been left behind in California. 

But she looks genuine--and nervous again. Shaolin decides to smile at her.

“No need to be sorry, Miss Cruz,” Shaolin says, putting the record back on the shelf. Then he thinks of something and turns back to her. “Because you weren’t wrong. I wasn’t any good for Zeke.”

Mylene’s face falls and she starts to fidget. Shaolin turns and restarts to restock shelves, hoping to forget she’s even there.

But then Shao thinks of the last time they actually talked. He thinks what he said to her. 

_ Nothing between your legs and nothing between your ears. _

He cringes. 

“Actually,” Shaolin says, slowly turning back around to face Mylene. “ _ I’m  _ sorry. For talking so bad about you. For calling you a bitch and all that.” 

It’s Mylene’s turn to look skeptical. She tilts her head at Shaolin for a moment before taking a small step towards him.

“Really?”

Shao looks at Mylene and is surprised to find that he doesn’t feel anything negative towards her anymore. No annoyance, no hurt. No envy. 

Zeke was always hers. They were meant to be and could never be together, all because some other guy kept getting involved. Shao would’ve hated him, too.

“Yes. Really. I’m sorry.” 

Mylene’s quiet for a moment, looking bewildered. 

“Who  _ are  _ you?!” Mylene finally says, looking Shao up and down.

Her surprise pulls a laugh out of Shaolin. It’s the first time Shao’s actually laughed in a long time, and it’s hard to make himself stop. 

“I could ask you the same thing!” Shao says between laughs. “You come back from California being all nice to me.”

“Shit, I come back from California, and you got a 9 to 5! You’ve shaved and some more stuff!” Mylene says, gesturing towards Shao’s blue jeans, black shirt, and hat-less fro. “What the hell happened?”

Shao shrugs, starting to feel a little dazed. Mylene Cruz is the last person on Earth that should have been able to make Shaolin laugh. 

But then again, Shao even being alive should be impossible. But here he is. 

“I’m out the streets,” Shao states.

Mylene smiles at him like she’s actually happy for him. And it’s weird, but Shao feels good about it.

“Wow,” Mylene says faintly. 

**

It’s 2:37 a.m. Zeke has a migraine. His final exam is in less than 6 hours and constitutional law isn’t making more sense than it made 3 hours ago. But he’s got to pass it this time around. If Zeke fails, he’ll be 3 credits shy of being a sophomore. Zeke is  _ not  _ planning on repeating his freshmen year. Not happening.

Zeke was worth something, once upon a time. He had to prove it to everyone. Now, Zeke just has to prove it to himself. 

**

Mylene drags Shaolin back into the Kipling's home like it’s no big deal. Like they aren’t moving at a dizzying speed. 

Shaolin expects everyone to stare at him like he’s a ghost. What he doesn’t expect is for Boo to hug him so tightly that he almost stops breathing.

“You-You forgive me?” Shao asks, breathless and incredulous. 

Boo looks at Shao in confusion, then smiles slowly.

“I ain’t have nothing to forgive, Shao,” Boo says. “Shit, I’m just glad you alive. I ain’t seen you in damn near a year.” 

A year. Shao looks around the room carefully. Ra’s filled out some and Dizzee’s cut his fro down. Yolanda’s fro is touching her shoulders and she has a glow about her. For the first time, Shao notices that she and Mylene are holding hands. 

“Ya’ll forgive me, too?” Shao asks hesitantly, readying himself for the worst. 

Ra looks contemplative for a moment, then smirks.

“You promise to not get any of us arrested again?” Ra asks, earning a nudge from Dizzee. 

But Shao smiles, feeling like a stone has been taken out of his chest. 

“I promise.” 

**

The subway rides different. Rockier.

No, that’s impossible. The subway is riding just fine. It’s Zeke that’s different. He got used to smooth roads. 

The cars  _ look  _ different, though. There’s no graffiti. No paint, no signatures. Nothing. Just silver with spots of rust. It hurts Zeke’s eyes to look at. 

Zeke snatches his jacket off as the subway stretches to a stop. Zeke doesn’t know what possessed him to wear a jacket in the middle of May, anyway. The Bronx gets hot just like everywhere else. 200 days away made him forget that. 

200 days away made Zeke forget a lot things, apparently. He steps into the street and, for the first time in his life, has no idea where to go next. 

For a fleeting moment, Zeke considers going by the temple. But that’s a dumb idea. He doesn’t even know if the temple is still standing. Or if there’s anything--anyone--to go back to. 

So Zeke just walks. He walks through streets and is shocked to see that this Bronx is not the one he remembers. It’s not just the subway cars that are sorely lacking in the art. There’s not even any music on the wind.

But then again, why would there be? Zeke killed that music a long time ago.

So Zeke keeps walking.

**

It’s a dream. But a bad one. 

That’s the only way Zeke can be standing here, behind Mylene, staring at Shaolin. And it’s the only way Shaolin can be staring at Zeke from over Mylene’s shoulder.

It has to be a dream: Mylene’s convinced Shao to come to this uppity restaurant and Ezekiel Figuero is standing there staring at him. Those are things that do not happen in real life.

“Shao, what are you looking at?” Even Mylene’s voice sounds distant. It’s got to be a dream. 

But Zeke looks so  _ solid _ : he’s gained some muscle and some facial hair. His lips are parted in a small “o,” a look of shock and surprise that Shaolin could never imagine Zeke having on his face. It’s a look that says that Zeke isn’t sure if he’s happy to see Shao or not. 

Which is funny, because Shao distinctly remembers this man telling him that he never wanted to see Shao again. And now he’s standing there with a dumb look on his face. 

Shaolin keeps staring at Zeke and feels a rush of pain and irritation. 

“Your boyfriend,” Shaolin says through gritted teeth.

Mylene looks confused at first, then she slowly turns around and finally sees what Shao sees. 

The pain and irritation Shaolin feels appears all over Mylene’s face. 

“Oh, he is  _ not  _ my boyfriend,” Mylene says, still staring at Zeke. “Remember? I told you he broke up with me through a  _ shitty letter. _ ”

Zeke’s face falls, and Shao feels a sick sense of satisfaction. 

“Mylene . . . Shao . . .”

Zeke’s gravelly voice is the same. It’s just everything else that’s changed. 

Mylene stands up and Shao realizes that he should probably do the same. They don’t even start walking before they hear Zeke’s footfalls rushing towards them.

“Wait!” 

And Mylene does wait. She stops and turns to Zeke with her arms crossed. And that’s good for them, Shaolin thinks angrily. Maybe they can still work things out if Zeke promises not to write anymore shitty letters to her. 

But there’s nothing for Zeke and Shao to work out. 

So Shao walks away as fast as his legs will carry him, nearly knocking everyone in his way over. Shao wants to get away from Zeke, to get away from the man that built him up only to break him again. 

But, for some reason, he still hears footsteps behind him.

**

“I’m not the one that needs to wait, Zeke.  _ I _ don’t need the apology.” 

**

“Shao! Shao, wait! Shao, please--”

“CURTIS!” 

Shao shouts so loud and turns around so fast that he surprises himself. Zeke comes to a halt, a look of shock and hurt on his face. 

Shao sees Zeke’s face and he almost wants to melt. He wants to let all the resentment and betrayal ago and kiss Zeke until both of their mouths are swollen. 

But there’s no way in Hell that’s going to happen, not with a year’s worth of shit stretched between them. 

Shao glares  at Zeke; they’re both breathing hard, like they just ran a marathon. Or away from a man with a sword in his hands. 

“My name is Curtis, remember?” Shao continues more quietly. “You said yourself that ‘Shaolin Fantastic’ wasn’t a fucking name.” 

“Shao, please.” 

Zeke’s chest is in knots and he doesn’t even fight the tears that spring out of his eyes. He’s spent so long fighting with himself about wanting Shao and now he’s seeing Shao and Zeke  _ wants _ . Forgiveness, his life back, the music. Love. Zeke wants it all.

Shao sets his jaw and tries to force the lump in the throat down. He suddenly feels self-conscious as he watches Zeke take him in. Zeke’s eyes roam over the green shirt, the clean beard, and the black sneakers. Zeke’s eyes fall to where Shao’s  _ S  _ used to hang.

Zeke’s confused. Good. Shao is petty enough to be glad to be so different than what Zeke left behind. 

“What happened, man?” Zeke asks softly. 

Shao looks Zeke up and down, and he frowns. For the first time, Shao notices that Zeke looks  _ tired _ . And miserable. That fancy ass white folks’ school must’ve done a number on him. 

“I should ask you that, Ezekiel,” Shaolin says, taking in the bags under Zeke’s eyes. 

Zeke flinches: he can’t remember the last time Shao called him “Ezekiel.” 

“Um, school was a  little rough this year,” Zeke mutters, looking at the ground.

Okay, Shao takes it back: he doesn’t like seeing Zeke this way. Zeke looks broken down, like he’s caving in on himself. It makes Shao uncomfortable. Shao just wants to wrap his arms around Zeke, if only to make sure Zeke doesn’t fall to pieces. 

Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. 

Shao groans, and the noise startles Zeke. Shao does  _ not  _ want to feel anything for Zeke right now. Shit, he didn’t like it whenever he felt things for Zeke  _ before  _ Zeke left him. 

“Man,” Shao drawls, rubbing the back of his neck. “Why’d you come back here? I thought you and me were done.”

Zeke deflates. He’s been planning on apologizing to Shao for a while. But now the time has come and Zeke feels tired and tongue-tied. 

“I’m sorry, Shao,” Zeke says, his voice low and rough. “I shouldn’t have said any of those things. I--”

Zeke looks into Shao’s eyes and remembers them standing side-by-side, watching birds fly away.

“I was wrong about you.” 

Shao . . . he should be happy. That statement should have made him feel good about himself. Shao should just take it and run with it. 

But Shao knows better. And when you know better, you do better. 

“No, you weren’t,” Shaolin responds. “Not really. I did all that shit you said I did, Zeke. I was never any good for you.” 

Shao turns to walk away. In that moment, Zeke sees his whole life leaving him again. He reaches out and grabs Shao’s wrist as tightly as he can, pulling Shao to a stop.

Shao turns around in astonishment, looking down at Zeke’s hand as if he’s not sure it’s really there.

This all still feels like a dream, if Shao’s being honest.

“Shao, please don’t say that. It’s all bullshit, man. I’m sorry,” Zeke hears himself pleading with Shao to believe him and is too desperate to feel ashamed. 

“It’s not, though,” Shao says, turning to face Zeke fully. “I fucked your life up, remember?”

“You’re the only thing that  _ gives  _ me life, Shao!” Zeke yells forcefully. 

Shao .  . . he almost doesn’t understand the words. Almost thinks he’s imagining them. Because ain’t no way Ezekiel Figuero just told him that.

But Zeke stares back at him steadily. He  _ needs  _ Shaolin to believe him. Shit, he just needs Shaolin.

Moments pass. Zeke starts to shake and his face flushes. Shaolin looks into his eyes and feels his heart stop. 

“I fucked up,” Zeke states, his voice trembling. “I fucked up so badly. I hurt you. And I left you when you needed me the most. I can’t ever apologize enough for that.”

_ You know what people say about you?  _ Shao closes his eyes against the memories of that night, of Zeke’s words and the way they destroyed Shao’s spirit. Of Annie sitting in the temple, gun in her hand, with a smug look on her face. 

“You said I was broken,” Shao whispers, his eyes still closed.  Shao opens them and tears stream down his face. “But you know what the fucked up part is? You were right.” 

Shao gently pulls his wrist from Zeke’s hand, and Zeke feels his heart break. Shao looks up at Zeke with aggravation on his face.

“Man, you been gone for a  _ year, _ ” Shaolin says, trying to blink away his tears. “You think you can just come back and have us both crying in the middle of the damn street?”

“302 days.”

“Huh?” 

Zeke wants to kick himself for the correction, but he’s here now. He sighs and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“It’s been 302 days,” Zeke says. “I went 102 days without seeing you before I left for Yale. Then I spent 200 days there, 20 extra than I should’ve because I fucked up this semester. So, it’s been 302 days since we last spoke.” 

Shao squints at Zeke and his lips part, exposing his two front teeth. Zeke would find it adorable if he weren’t busy baring his soul.

“Nigga, did you literally  _ count the days  _ that we were apart?” Shao asks incredulously. 

Zeke’s embarrassed: he didn’t realized how insane that sounds until Shao repeats it back to him. But he nods. 

“Yeah,” Zeke answers. “I did. I . . . I missed you, man. I thought of you everyday.” 

Shao blinks slowly. He doesn’t know if he’s freaked out or deeply flattered. Or some weird combination of the two. 

“Shit, you ain’t lying. You really did miss me,” Shao mutters. 

Another moment passes. Zeke looks at Shao shyly.

“Did you . . . did you ever miss me? Ever think of me?”

Shao glares at him again and Zeke worries that he’s pushing too hard. But then Shao’s face softens and he sighs.

“I tried not to,” Shaolin admits. “I really tried. I wanted to forget about you. But I couldn’t. You wouldn’t leave me alone, Books.” 

Zeke grins that dopey grin at the sound of his old nickname. And Zeke’s grin makes Shao grin. 

A gust of warm wind hits them, and they both realize that they are indeed having this emotional reunion in the middle of the damn sidewalk. 

“Um, let’s go to the temple,” Shao suggests.

Zeke’s eyes light up: he looks like a kid in a candy store. Shao has never loved anyone more.

**

Shao still has the turntables. 

He could never part with them. He doesn’t  _ use  _ them, but he still has them. 

Relief is clear on Zeke’s face when his eyes fall on the turntables.  And then Zeke notices the rest of the room. There’s another couch; a nicer one, too.  Shao’s bed is an  _ actual  _ bed. And there’s a mini fridge in here, now. 

“How’d you get this stuff, man?” Zeke asks. “Got this place looking like you pay to live here.”

Shao snorts and grabs two beers from the mini fridge. 

“I got a real job,” Shao says, flopping down on the nice couch. 

Zeke sits down next to and opens the beer.

“A real job. Like .  . away from Annie?” Zeke looks over at Shao with hesitant hope and takes a drink.

Shao waits until Zeke’s got a decent amount of beer in his mouth before speaking again. 

“Annie’s dead, man.” 

Zeke nearly spits his drink up and Shao snickers at him. Zeke looks over at Shao with wide eyes.

“Are you serious?!” 

“Yes. And I didn’t do nothing to her this time!” Shao says. “She fell down the stairs at Les Inferno and broke her neck.” 

“Shit, man,” Zeke says in amazement. Then he realizes something and frowns.

“Wait . . . you’d gone back to her?”

It’s the kind of question that should make Shao angry at Zeke for bringing up bad memories. But Shao can’t get angry right now. 

He sighs heavily and takes a drink before answering.

“She made me,” Shao tells  Zeke. “After what went down with you and me, I came back here. She was waiting for me. She told me that she’d kill all the Get Down Brothers--starting with you--if I didn’t go back with her.” 

Zeke’s mouth falls open and he stares at Shao. He puts his beer on the table with shaky hands.  

Fuck. Fuck, fuck  _ fuck _ . 

“Shao, I’m so sorry,” Zeke says. “I should’ve been there for you.”

Shao shrugs and puts his beer down, too, his hands just as shaky as Zeke’s.

“You didn’t know. I don’t think you ever realized just how deep I was in with her.”

Zeke mentally kicks himself. “I never tried to know. I guess I thought it would be simple for you to just leave.” 

“Nothing’s ever simple with my life, Books,” Shao says with a smile. “You know that firsthand.” 

Zeke gives Shao a crooked smile. “Yeah, I know.”

He hesitantly reaches for Shao’s hand. Shao looks down in surprise, but takes Zeke’s hand anyway. 

“Little Wolf wanted me to sell with him, but I said no,” Shaolin continues. “Then I got the job at the store.”

Zeke runs his thumb over Shao’s hand. 

“I got out,” Shao says the words breathlessly. It’ll always be amazing to him. “I really go out.” 

“I’m so proud of you, Shao,” Zeke’s voice sounds even rougher as he talks through his tears. 

Zeke leans down and kisses Shao’s hand. Shao blushes, his face burning.

302 days. This is real. 

Shao and Zeke look into each other’s eyes.

“You know we can’t be like we were before, right?” Shao says shakily. “I mean, you gotta go back to school in a couple of months. I ain’t DJ’ed in a  _ long  _ time. It’s not gonna be like it was before.” 

Zeke frowns and twists his mouth. Then he grins.

“I know. But maybe we can make it better.”

Zeke moves closer to Shaolin, and Shaolin closer to Zeke. 

The first kiss is nervous and chaste. Neither man thought they’d ever get  _ here _ . But both men are a little greedy, too. Zeke puts his hand on the back of Shao’s neck, and Shao nearly pushes himself into Zeke’s lap. 

The second, third and fourth kisses are deep and hungry. They kiss like they’ll find themselves in each other again. 

When they finally remember they need air, Shao and Books are breathless, dazed and whole. 

“I love you, Shaolin Fantastic.”

Shaolin leans his forehead against Book’s and smiles.

“I love you too, Books.” 

Across town, the last graffiti-covered subway car speeds by, “007” painted on its side. 

 


End file.
